To Endure
by CoolBreeze1347
Summary: In the aftermath of a failed mission, Legolas returns to the stronghold in Mirkwood and must carry on as a captain, a prince, and a son. A story about finding hope and faith in the face of despair.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's creations, I just like to play in Middle Earth.

Summary: In the aftermath of a failed mission, Legolas returns to the stronghold and must carry on as a captain, a prince, and a son. A story about finding hope and faith in the face of despair.

Author's Note: Hello all! It's been a long time, and I've had the itch to dabble in fanfiction again lately. This story evolved a lot as I wrote it. It ended up being a piece about life in Mirkwood in the time leading up to the War of the Ring. Full disclosure: there isn't much action and there aren't a lot of plot turns either—no cliffhangers in this one—just an angsty little story. It is very much character driven. It is five chapters long and written in its entirety, I intend to post weekly. Enjoy!

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**To Endure - Chapter 1**

Legolas woke slowly. Sound returned first. A muted cacophony of noises that his mind began to sort out into distinct, meaningful sounds—the crackle and pop of a nearby fire, the grind of a whetstone upon a blade, the hushed tones of a whispered conversation, a pained groan followed by gentle words of encouragement. Though his eyes were still closed, the sounds painted a familiar picture in Legolas' mind: an encampment, after a battle.

Memory followed the return of sound. The planned offensive action against the orcs, the battle, everything going so horribly wrong, and then pain and darkness. The memory of pain awakened a present fire in his body. A burning pain in his side made itself known, he tensed and tried to curl in on himself to alleviate the feeling.

"Easy, Legolas," a voice said. Hands gently pressed his shoulders back down. "Be careful, we've only just stopped the bleeding."

Legolas finally opened his eyes. Galathil leaned over him, lines of worry etched into his face. Over him, light and shadows danced upon the branches of the surrounding trees. Legolas took a deep, steadying breath, and slowly turned his head, taking in his surroundings. The camp was quiet; many warriors were sleeping or unconscious, Legolas could not say from his own prone position; others fussed over weapons or comrades; some tended to the horses, who appeared agitated and nervous. His gaze returned to Galathil. His friend and lieutenant looked exhausted, but otherwise appeared to be well.

Together, Galathil and he had trained to be warriors, gone on their first patrols, and risen through the ranks of warriors. He was invaluable as a trusted friend and reliable confidant.

"Are you alright?" Legolas asked softly, surprised at how rough his voice sounded.

Galathil nodded, "I am well." Galathil turned to the fire, his gaze unfocused as he thought back to the terrifying moment when he realized his prince and, more importantly, his friend was injured. He recalled watching Legolas fall to the ground, his hands grasping weakly at his side, trying to stop the blood that seeped between his fingers. Galathil drew in a shaky breath and focused back on Legolas, "I feared your injury was much worse. You were lucky, the blade struck over your ribs, but did not break them. The wound bled a lot, but no serious damage was done. You'll heal quickly with rest."

Legolas nodded. He was exhausted, and the wound hurt, but he didn't feel too badly considering the injury. Legolas searched his memory, trying to put the pieces of the battle back together. "What happened? I remember fighting in the trees and then being forced to the ground. I recall being injured, but little after that," he trailed off, glancing down at his torso, which was wrapped in bandages.

Galathil dropped his eyes, "It could have been worse. You did not miss much. The orcs retreated in the end, their numbers are significantly depleted, but the battle did not go as planned for us. Five dead, seven seriously injured, more have minor injuries. No ground lost, but also none gained."

Legolas sighed, they had been sent to drive the beasts of Dol Guldur back, not merely hold them off. The darkness had been spread north and strengthened with alarming speed of late. The unyielding shadow that hung over the southern reaches of the once great forest now approached the Old Forest Road. This particular area had been contested for many months now and the elves struggled constantly to regain territory here without success.

The Council decided to send Legolas with a large contingent of the realm's best warriors south to confront the threat head on and push them back. Regular patrolling schedules had been disrupted to make this happen. The plan had been to retake ground and reestablish the regular patrols in this area to hold it. That they might fail had been unthinkable.

Instead of returning with a report of their success, Legolas would have to tell the King's Council that they suffered losses and achieved no gains. He tensed in apprehension just thinking about it. He hated failure, and it was all too common lately. And everyone had thought this plan could succeed. Pull the best warriors from the northern patrols, amass their forces, and surprise the dark creatures of the south. It seemed their enemy had a similar plan.

Legolas supposed that the timing of this assault had been fortuitous for coinciding with an attack from the south. Had they arrived a little earlier, the elves likely would have succeeded in retaking ground, but then weary forces would have been met with an onslaught. Had they arrived a little later, the regular patrols of elves who held the border would have been desperately outnumbered. Legolas shuddered at the possibilities, both would have resulted in more elven deaths. Losing lives was far worse than losing ground.

Unfortunately, Legolas suspected the Council might need time to fully appreciate this perspective. But the Council was a problem for later and Legolas had more pressing concerns right now, "Of the seriously injured, how many lives are still in danger?"

"None. All are stable, it is hopeful that they will recover fully, given time."

"That is something then," Legolas said, pleased. He was glad that no more lives would be lost this night, but he mourned the elves already gone and the fact that more would follow. Perhaps not tonight, but there would be other battles soon enough.

Legolas looked around again; his mind working faster and starting to think through his responsibilities—first and foremost the safety of those under his command. He once again took in their surroundings, and frowned as he realized he knew this place. A deep pain that had nothing to do with his wound gripped him. "Who chose this location?" he asked.

"I hoped we would move on before you woke, but this was the most defensible position available to us after the battle. I know you avoid this area when possible, I am sorry that we had to come here." Galathil asked sadly.

Legolas shook his head, "No, if this was the best option, it was the right choice. Lingering sentiment has no place in this part of the forest."

They were in a clearing near what had once been the queen's family home, but it was barely recognizable now. Legolas pursed his lips. His mother had been gone for a long time, but it still pained him to think of her. He looked more closely at the trees around him. In his memories, this was a place of light and happiness, now the trees were foreboding—twisted, dense, and dark. It took a great deal of imagination to see it for what it once was.

Before she married his father and became queen, his mother had lived with her parents in a settlement here. But this area had been abandoned long ago, and it was now all but overrun by the forest. Legolas had many good memories with his mother and grandparents here. But it was too far south for the elves to hold, and the people who lived here were forced to move north. Many, his grandparents among them, had chosen to sail when forced to leave their homes. Some of Legolas' first patrols and then battles as a warrior had been in this area. The memories of happier times in this place were tempered by the memories of losing friends and seeing firsthand the destruction of his home.

After the settlement was disbanded, the warriors had used it as an outpost, but eventually even that purpose was abandoned as the orcs and other foul creatures of the south pushed north. After the warriors had abandoned it, the settlement had been destroyed by a fire started during a nearby battle with the orcs. Thankfully, most of the trees had been spared, but the homes and buildings that had once stood here were all gone. Now, the forces of Dol Guldur did not hold this place, but neither did the elves. It was not safe to stay here long anymore and the elves typically would not make camp here. Legolas had not returned to this particular part of the forest since it had burned. There had never been reason to and it was too far south to be a safe place to stay for long.

And though he would never admit it out loud, the memories this place brought to him were painful and only served to remind him of all that had been lost. Legolas avoided this area, and would only come here with great need. Being here made him feel their losses all the more acutely.

Darkness had fallen in this part of the forest, and it was spreading. Legolas' mother had once told him that wherever there were elves, the darkness could not succeed. Elves were creatures of light, and darkness was merely the absence of light, she had explained. Therefore, wherever the elves were, there was also light. He wondered if she would believe that today. He wondered if he believed that today.

Once, they walked freely among the trees, young elves were not required to learn the art of war, the idea of an elf dying was foreign. Now, they were forced to hide behind walls, forced to send soldiers to their deaths, forced to sacrifice today in the hope that tomorrow would be better.

Legolas did not want to be here. He wanted to go home. He wanted to get his warriors to safety and make his report so that he could put this place and battle behind him. He wanted time, however little of it there might be, to recover and regroup.

Legolas had to forcefully pull himself from his dark thoughts. He focused back on the pressing matters at hand, "How long have we been camped here?"

"Not so long that we are in danger. The orcs were dealt a mighty blow too, they will not attack again soon."

Legolas again struggled to push himself up, "Aye, but neither will they retreat. And there are other foul creatures here besides orcs. The patrols have been pushed north, there are spiders to worry about as well."

Galathil reached an arm behind Legolas to help him, "Trust your warriors. Our scouts have done their job and say we are still safe enough here."

"I trust them, but I am still responsible for them. I do not like missing things when we are this far south." Legolas leaned forward, resting his head in his hands for a moment as he waited for the wave of dizziness that struck him to pass.

"Breathe," Galathil reminded him, satisfied when he heard Legolas draw in a deep breath, "You'll need to take it easy for a while. I know I can't make you rest, but try not to move more than necessary. You've lost enough blood so be careful with those stitches. I don't like sewing you back together, don't make me do it again."

Legolas carefully shifted, testing his range of motion. It hurt when it pulled at the stitches, but not so much that he couldn't deal with it. He stood slowly and was surprised by the way the world violently tilted around him. Galathil grabbed his arm firmly, steadying him.

"Blood loss, remember? Enough that you passed out." Galathil chided, "You should still have the healers clean and examine the wound when we return. You could also just rest, all is well in the camp whether you are on your feet or not."

Legolas shook his head, taking a step away to stand on his own looking at their surroundings once more, "I'll be careful."

Legolas moved about the camp, speaking with the warriors who were awake, checking on them and comforting them in the loss of their comrades. Even Galathil would admit that the other warriors were visibly encouraged by the sight of their captain and prince up and about. Legolas was pleased to find that everyone would be able to travel well enough. It would be painful for some, but they needed to return north. The battle had been long and all of them were weary. Those who were hale would not be able to protect the wounded and themselves if they were attacked again. The longer they lingered here, the greater the danger.

He spoke with every elf who was awake, praising their efforts in the battle and assuring them that they had fought well and done what they could. He knew them all personally. He knew their preferred weapons, their friends and families, when they had last been on patrol, and when they had last been on leave. He helped one warrior repair arrows, bandaged another's wound, and built litters to carry the dead and injured.

Dawn had not been far off when Legolas first woke, and time passed swiftly as he kept himself busy. The forest here was too dense for much light to filter through, but eventually the black surrounding them gave way to gray. Everyone was ready to go. No one yet spoke of it openly, but the losses weighed heavily upon them and none were satisfied with the outcome of the battle.

Four warriors were too injured to ride, and they were settled onto litters for the journey. Three were unable to ride unassisted, and shared horses with uninjured warriors.

Five warriors were reverently placed on litters. Wounds that would never heal had nonetheless been cleaned. Eyes that remained open even in sleep had been closed for a final time. Only one day ago they lived, admired the beauty of the forest, relished in the hope that sunrise inspired. They fought and grieved, loved and were loved. Now they lay in silence forevermore.

They set out at dawn. The elves could sense that the sun had risen, though the even the days were dark in this part of the forest.

Their pace was slow, but steady. As they left, Legolas turned and allowed himself a momentary look back at the once welcoming clearing, trying to picture it as it had been and not see it as it was. He found he couldn't—the darkness here was too strong, and the memory too weak. Sighing, he turned and moved to the front of the weary column, leading his people home.

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Author's Note: The paragraph near the end of the chapter about the dead was inspired in part by John McCrae's poem, _In Flanders Fields_. It is excellent and I highly recommend looking it up if you haven't read it before.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I appreciate that you took the time to read it! Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! Chapter two will be up in a week.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's creations, I just like to play in Middle Earth.

Summary: In the aftermath of a failed mission, Legolas returns to the stronghold and must carry on as a captain, a prince, and a son. A story about finding hope and faith in the face of despair.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 1, especially to the two guests to whom I could not write individual replies! Without further delay, here's chapter 2.

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**Chapter 2**

"She fought bravely. Without her, more lives would have been lost. The kingdom and I mourn with you, though I do not presume to imagine your pain," Legolas hesitated, eyes flicking down for a moment before continuing, "I—I am sorry I could not save her."

The fallen warrior's father kept his head bowed, but Legolas could still see the tears on his face. The mother's grief was beyond tears. She stared at Legolas with a haunted, absent expression.

"Ernil nin, we do not blame you for what has happened. The fault lies with the dark creatures of this world and no one else," the childless mother paused, "We thank you for your visit. We know there are many demands on your time."

Legolas quickly shook his head, "My lady, please, do not think of it, I wish only that I could do something more for you."

She looked to her husband, but he refused to look up. He took a breath that turned into a sob halfway through.

Legolas bit his lip and lowered his eyes. How he wished he could have protected their child. How he wished he could protect all the elves of the realm.

"We thank you for bringing her body back. We know this is not always possible."

The prince managed to hide his flinch, but only just. This was not his first visit of this sort to this family. Less than twenty years ago he sat at this same table and brought them news of the death of their son. That time, he had not been able to return the body for a proper funeral. That time, their daughter had been here too. She was younger than her brother had been, and was already training to be a warrior. She had hoped to serve by her brother's side once she finished her training. Her grief over his death manifested itself as anger, not at Legolas, but at the darkness invading their home. She had redoubled her efforts. She had been strong, capable, and devoted to the realm's cause. Now she too was gone.

Legolas brought her parents news of her death and her body, and they thanked him. This would be his last visit to this couple, they had no more children to give.

A soft knock sounded at the door and Galathil stepped inside, his head low and his voice soft, "My lord, I apologize for interrupting, but we must go, the council meeting—"

"Can wait," Legolas stopped him without looking away from the grieving parents.

"No, ernil nin," the elleth said, "Please, go. We will—we will be alright. Please, go back to the palace, continue this war. Win it. Make it so that our children's lives were not given to a failed cause."

Legolas nodded his head. He stood, and bowed to them both, placing his hand over his heart. He spoke to them without rising, "If you want for anything, you have but to ask. The people of our realm stand in your debt. We cannot repay it, but please do not hesitate to ask for help."

The elleth tried to smile at him, but could not quite manage it. The ellon still did not look up. Legolas left their home in silence, there was nothing more to say.

Before the year was up, the father would sail for Valinor, his restless soul no longer able to find peace in the darkness of Mirkwood nor anywhere in Arda. The mother would stay. She would train to become a healer and she would fight to protect the children of others. More than once, she would treat Legolas' wounds. She would care for all of her patients as though they were her own children.

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Galathil walked next to Legolas as they returned to the palace. The journey home had taken longer than it should have and their arrival had caused quite a commotion in the palace. Healers had been summoned and initial notifications had been made to the Council. The Council was forced to wait for a full report as Legolas had gone immediately to speak with the families of the fallen—a task he had undertaken far too often of late and one that left him emotionally drained. It had taken longer than he had expected, but he refused to rush any of the visits, and now he was late for the Council meeting that had been scheduled after their return. Legolas knew the king would not be pleased at his tardiness, but would understand. Legolas expected a stern look when he arrived and nothing further.

The council undoubtedly already knew what had happened. They would need the details from him, but his absence would not prevent them from getting on with their work. He hoped they had done just that; he did not look forward to these meetings on the best of days, and today was not the best of days. He absently rested his hand on his side, the wound hidden beneath his tunic burning with every move.

"Legolas, perhaps I should attend the council meeting," Galathil did not miss the visible sign of his friend's pain.

Legolas barked out a laugh, "Be careful, Galathil, I might take you up on that."

"I mean it, I would go."

He did mean it and Legolas knew it. Galathil was perfectly capable of handling the report and had on previous occasions when Legolas was either absent from the palace on a patrol or confined to the healing wards with an injury. An argument could even be made that Galathil was better equipped to give the report today than Legolas. After all, Galathil had at least been conscious for the entire battle. But this battle would be a disappointment to the Council, and the meeting would likely not go well for whoever represented the warriors there. Legolas would not send his friend into that situation without need. Legolas was more than just a captain, he was the prince, and duty demanded his attendance. Not to mention his father, who also demanded his attendance.

"I know, my friend, but we have business to attend to besides the council meeting."

"The assignments?"

"Aye," Legolas agreed.

Galathil frowned, "It will be difficult to fill the patrols until the wounded from this battle have recovered."

Legolas sighed, "I know. And three of the dead often led patrols, their roles will not be easily filled."

"We may need to split leadership in some of the existing patrols. Perhaps some of the new novices could be assigned patrols in the safer areas?"

"I agree that leadership roles will need to be reevaluated, but I do not wish to rush into sending the novices out on patrol. We must consider all options before we take that route."

Galathil nodded his agreement, "I will update the rosters and see what I can do with the assignments."

"No, just work on the rosters. You need rest too and the assignments can wait a day if I can't get to them this evening."

Galathil was about to protest, but Legolas cut him off, "You have been going even longer than I, Galathil. The assignments can wait, the rest of the captains will need to look at them and that cannot be done until tomorrow anyway."

"Alright, but you must promise to rest as well. If I find you still working tomorrow morning, I'll…" Galathil trailed off, trying to think of a suitable threat.

"Do something very terrible, I'm sure," Legolas offered with a wry smile, "I will rest, you have my word."

Galathil clapped him on the back, "Good luck."

"Thank you," Legolas replied as they parted ways, Galathil going to the Captain's Hall and Legolas going to the palace.

* * *

"If they had not been there, more ground would have been lost! Even now, the Forest Road may have been under the shadow."

"I care not for an old dwarf road."

"Whether or not you care for it, it is dangerously close to free villages. Do you care for those?"

"The mountains will protect them."

"Not to the east and west! We can use the landscape to our advantage, but our warriors protect those villages and the elves in them, not mountains! And how far will we let this shadow encroach upon our lands? Will you trust the river to protect us when the orcs encroach upon our stronghold?"

Legolas paused outside of the King's Council Chamber. They were even louder than usual today. Valar, he did not want to do this. What he wanted was to go to his room and sleep for a week. Between the battle, the injury, and speaking to the families of the dead, he was exhausted. He did not care for the politics of war. As a captain and an archer, he knew he contributed valuable information to these deliberations and aided in decision-making, but he did not want to hear arguments about how much an elven life was worth today. A headache was already building between his temples and this was sure to make it worse.

The soldier standing guard at the door watched Legolas with concern, "My prince, are you well?"

Legolas offered him a half smile. "Aye, but I'm not sure how long that will last," he replied with a meaningful glance toward the chamber, "Probably best to get this over with though."

The soldier nodded with a slight smile and opened the door for Legolas. Instantly, Legolas straightened and schooled his features into an impassive mask. He was a warrior, a captain, and the prince of this realm, he would not return to the council slouched and defeated. He moved purposefully into the room, taking his place at his father's right side.

Thranduil watched him enter with interest. The council had yet to receive an official report, but he had heard enough to know that his son had been among the injured. The rest of the council may have seen his son confidently and purposefully move through the room, but Thranduil saw with a father's eyes the way his son shortened his long stride slightly and the controlled movements of his arms and torso. Thranduil saw someone he loved suppressing pain. But his son was here, and not in the healing wings, and Thranduil trusted him. Or at least, Thranduil trusted that someone else would have forced his son to the healing wings had it been necessary.

Thranduil decided to move this along. The sooner this particular meeting ended, the better for everyone, "Legolas, besides the brief notifications upon your return, we have heard only hearsay and rumor of what has happened. I think we would all benefit from your official report. It is my understanding that you have other matters to attend to today, I would not see you spend more time here than is necessary when our warriors have need of you."

Legolas recognized that his father was giving him the opportunity for early escape, and he was grateful. He nodded and began his report. He told them of how he and his warriors had scouted the orcs for three days while avoiding detection and engagement. He provided details about their enemy's numbers and organization, their movements and encampments. He described the plan of attack, waiting until dawn when most of the orcs would be asleep, moving some of their numbers east and west before moving further south in an attempt to flank them, their efforts to stay in the trees and maintain the high ground. He spoke of the surprisingly coordinated response of the orcs and described how the orcs had reinforcements available to them shortly after the battle began.

The battle went ill for them when three of their number were nearly simultaneously hit by bolts from the orcs' crossbows. The warriors had fallen from the trees and forced other elves to the ground to cover them. With the advantage of the trees lost to them, the tide began to turn against them.

He left out the part of the tale where he had taken injury on the ground when an orc managed to slip past his defenses as he fought to protect a fallen warrior who later succumbed to injuries—it was not necessary for the big picture the council cared about. Instead, he described their efforts to retrieve the fallen and return to the trees. They had been partially successful, enough elves had scaled the trees that they were able to drive the orcs back with their arrows.

Here, Legolas had to rely on the account he had received from Galathil. The orcs had eventually retreated beyond the long reach of the elven archers, but the contingent was unable to press the temporary advantage. The wounded required aid and protection, and many of those able to fight had minor injuries that needed tending.

Legolas concluded by explaining where the boundaries now stood between territory controlled by orcs, territory controlled by elves, and contested territory, "We did not lose ground, and we did push them back a little. But the entire line is contested, we will not be certain of the exact areas we control until other patrols are sent out to scout. One is heading south now; our hope is that they will not be engaged by the enemy so soon after the battle."

Legolas paused, offering a moment for the Council to ask questions. When none were forthcoming, he continued, "Never have I seen so many of those foul creatures coordinate for an organized attack. I believe they intended to push further north and likely would have succeeded had we not sought to drive them south at the same. We prevented them from gaining ground, but were not able to push our border of control further south as hoped."

Silence followed the end of the report, until it was broken by Berethron, a long-time Councilor whom Legolas held in esteem. Berethron had never been a warrior, but he listened when the warriors spoke and heard what they needed. He was good at balancing the needs of the kingdom with the capabilities of the kingdom's resources. Most importantly, he was usually able to cut straight to the heart of the matter and recognize what was most important, "Have the families of the dead been notified?"

"Aye," Legolas responded, "I spoke to them myself before coming here; it is why I was delayed. Others are seeing that their needs are met."

Berethron nodded, satisfied. Galdor, however, was not satisfied. Where Berethron was measured and tactful in his approach, Galdor was rash and blunt. While Legolas appreciated that he never had to guess what Galdor was thinking, he often thought Galdor would benefit from a bit of restraint. Today, Legolas knew Galdor would have no restraint, for he was the uncle of one of the dead.

"Their needs are being met?" Galdor asked Legolas icily, "What they need is safety. They need to know that they and their families are safe. Why is it that our warriors cannot provide that?"

Legolas lowered his gaze. He knew there would always be losses in war, and they were indeed a people at war. For a long time, the elves of the realm had denied this fact and clung to the lives they had lived in Greenwood, untainted by the shadow of Dol Guldur. But now this land was Mirkwood, both on maps and in fact, though Legolas would never call it that. "No victory comes without sacrifice," Legolas finally replied.

"These days, it seems we are only capable of sacrifice and not victory!" Galdor snapped, "Can we not go one month without the loss of an elven life?"

_No_, Legolas thought bitterly, lately it seemed they could not even accomplish that. Lately, it seemed he could keep no one safe.

"We should not judge the warriors too harshly, it seems that they did at least head off another offensive by our enemy," Berethron replied, "Consider the meeting we might be having if our warriors had not been there." Some counselors nodded their agreement, others did not seem convinced.

Legolas resisted the urge to sigh, this was the part of the meetings that he hated. Waiting for the counselors to debate the current state of affairs and determine a course of action. For him, it was simple enough. Stop the orcs, clear out the spider nests, push the shadow south. End the war—that one was a more long-term goal. His mind wandered to the long list of tasks that awaited him. His warriors needed rest and the work that normally would have been completed by the injured would not wait for them to recover. He caught his father looking at him somewhat sharply and realized he was bouncing his leg restlessly. He stopped and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation. Berethron caught his eye and Legolas knew Thranduil was not the only one to notice his inattention.

Berethron, however, was more sympathetic to Legolas' plight, "Legolas, it is my understanding that you rearranged patrols to gather more warriors for this offensive; is it safe to assume that patrols will need to be adjusted further to account for the new state of things?"

Galdor scoffed, "Speak plainly, Berethron, further adjustment is necessary because we have dead and wounded."

Berethron did not respond, but continued to gaze evenly at Legolas, who could not stop himself at biting his lip at Galdor's comment before swiftly schooling his features again.

"Yes, my lord. Galathil is updating the rosters as we speak, I will make the assignments myself later."

Berethron looked to Thranduil, "My king, I think Legolas has provided the information the council needs to deliberate further. I believe our realm would be better served if we were to release him to see the needs of the warriors."

The king resisted the urge to smile at Berethron, it was good that his son had an ally on the council. "I agree. Legolas, see to your other duties, but I would speak with you again today."

"Yes, my lord," Legolas replied as he stood. As soon as Legolas moved from his place, he resisted the urge to run in a most unprincely manner and tried not to listen as the council launched back into arguments.

* * *

Author's note: In case you're interested, I'm working on a one-shot about the mother mentioned early in this chapter after she starts training to become a healer that I'll post sometime after wrapping up this story. Depending on whether it is well-received, I may expand it into a series of one-shots, but that's a decision for another day!

I hope you enjoyed chapter two. Thank you again to everyone who reviewed chapter one. I always appreciate feedback (whether good or bad) and would love to hear what you thought about this chapter if you have a minute. A quick heads up, I'm going out of town next week. I am going to try to get chapter 3 up on Friday before I leave, but it might be a few extra days if you don't see it by then. If that happens, I'll make up for it by posting chapter 4 early. Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's creations, I just like to play in Middle Earth.

Summary: In the aftermath of a failed mission, Legolas returns to the stronghold and must carry on as a captain, a prince, and a son. A story about finding hope and faith in the face of despair.

Author's Note: Thanks everyone for hanging in there with me, and especially thank you to those who took the time to review. Enjoy chapter 3!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Legolas walked into the captains' quarters and found Galathil arranging pieces of parchment on a large table. Legolas stood next to him and started reading the names. All of the warriors of the realm were accounted for on these rosters, which also noted their skill levels and specialties. The rosters were then organized into patrols and given assignments.

"Are these current?" Legolas asked.

"Yes. The most recent casualties have been taken into account. This list," he held up a piece of parchment, "has my recommendations for warriors who need time at home or easy assignments—those who were given additional patrols in the last month and the immediate family members of the dead. These," he pointed to a different list, "have finished leave or light duty following convalescence and should be prepared for the longer patrols."

Legolas rested his hands on the table and read the two lists carefully, nodding his agreement, "Thank you."

"No problem," Galathil replied, "I can help arrange the patrols later if you would like. For now, though, I request your leave to go assist with training. Two of the instructors returned home to be with their families; the remaining instructors could use some help."

"Of course," Legolas answered. Sadly, the kingdom was growing used to the loss of elven lives, but to lose five at one was a difficult blow for the tight-knit community.

Galathil paused in the doorway, "How was the council meeting?"

"Brief, at least for me it was. Berethron came to my rescue and I was released early."

Galathil raised his eyebrows, "Was Galdor being an ass again?"

"Galathil."

"What?" Galathil asked innocently, "It was just a question."

Legolas smiled, but didn't answer.

"So, he was then. Legolas, ignore him. He's hot-tempered on his best days, and today wasn't going to be his best day. Don't listen to anything he said. We did all we could do."

"I hate reporting failures, and there have been few successes to report of late."

Galathil walked back to Legolas and laid a hand on his shoulder, "Frustration with a situation is fine, but do not let that lead to self-doubt. The warriors trust you. I trust you. We would not follow anyone else as we follow you."

Legolas nodded. "Thank you, Galathil," he said after a pause.

"Are you done today after you work the assignments?"

"Yes, I may visit the training fields and my father wishes to speak to me, but I plan to rest after that. That is what you really wanted to know, isn't it?"

"Got it in one, my friend. The only thing I would add to your list is a visit to the healers. Don't tell me you don't need it, I see the way you favor that side."

"Just being careful with it."

"No you're not. If you were being careful, you'd be staying off your feet as much as possible and you'd have already visited the healers."

"I am fine."

"You aren't. You will be, if you take care of yourself. If you don't get that cut cleaned properly and it gets infected, I am not coming to visit you healing wards."

Legolas rolled his eyes, "Oh no, not that," he replied sarcastically, "I thought you were needed on the training fields?"

Galathil grinned, "Yes. But in all seriousness, Legolas, see the healers," he paused and his expression darkened, "We can't afford to be down anymore warriors right now." Galathil left, leaving Legolas to ponder how to organize too few warriors into too many patrols.

Things were reasonably well organized for the next fortnight, which had been taken into account when they planned for the most recent assault. Some adjustments were necessary based on the most recent casualties, but they wouldn't be in real trouble for a couple of weeks. For today, he would be satisfied with solving the most immediate problems and drawing up drafts for the following weeks. He could review it with Galathil and the other captains tomorrow and get their input then.

He poured over the lists and started making notes while filling in proposed assignments. The same warriors were frequently grouped together when the captains found teams that worked with particular efficiency. Some of those needed to be shuffled to account for the dead.

Legolas glanced between the lists of warriors who needed assignments and the list of the dead. How many more names would be added to the second list? Legolas bit his lip and unexpectedly found tears blurring his vision. Five dead in one battle. He hadn't had time to process it while they were in the south; pausing for grief then would only have put others at risk. He also had to push aside his own pain when speaking to the families of the fallen. They needed his strength, not his sorrow. The council was also not a place for such thoughts; it was for assessing threats and coming up with solutions. Now, however, alone with the lists of names, he finally had a moment to himself. These elves were his friends, he knew all of them by name and cared for them. He knew their strengths, he knew their goals, and he knew their families.

He forced himself to draw in a deep breath. It was harder to deal with this right now because he was tired and hurting. He needed to finish what absolutely had to be done and take a break, even if it was only for the night. He had been going non-stop for weeks and needed a moment to himself.

He focused again on the lists of names. Concentrating on the task at hand, he continued to fill in assignments.

It took a few hours, but eventually he had a plan. It was good enough for tonight. He wanted to look at it with fresh eyes again tomorrow before showing it to the other captains for feedback and presenting it to the council, but he had accomplished his task.

Legolas glanced out the window, the sun was beginning to set. The novice training sessions would be ending soon, but they wouldn't be done for the day yet. He hadn't dropped in on their training in several weeks, and wished to see their progress. Training timelines for new warriors had been accelerated in recent years. Before, there was no hurry to progress a young novice to become a qualified warrior. Now, need hastened their training, but he would not send them out on even the supposedly safe patrols until he was satisfied that they were ready.

He stood and stretched, stopping short when he felt the pull on his injury. Despite the pain, he would not be going to the healing wings. The healers had enough to deal with right now; he would not add to their burden tonight. He could clean it himself later. He was afraid that if he went there, they would try to make him spend the night. They did not need the added burden of another patient and he needed to spend a night in his own bed.

A light breeze cooled the evening. Legolas breathed in the distinctive scent of early fall in the forest as he approached the training fields, looking for Galathil and losing himself in the familiar sounds of the weapons classes. Commands rang out and blades clashed. Young novices laughed with each other and grunted in effort. Instructors called out corrections and explained proper technique. Some of the classes had already concluded and Legolas did not see Galathil. Legolas hoped he had already returned to his home—he needed rest too. The coming weeks would be difficult until more of their number were recovered.

Legolas approached an archery range for beginners and watched the young ones testing their new skills.

Familiar commands filled the air, "Draw!"

"Hold!"

"Fire!"

As one, the class released their arrows. As one, the arrows flew towards the targets, many found their marks and a few missed. This was still a new craft for these elves. The class repeated the exercise again and again, trying to gain muscle memory in the new movements. They had learned the theory, and now it was time to master the skill.

Legolas leaned against the fence that separated the archery field from the rest of the practice areas. The novices did not know that Legolas watched them, but it would have made little difference. Legolas routinely watched the junior ranks train. Already, he and the other captains had plans for many of them. Some stood out in archery; others, in knife or sword work, hand-to-hand combat, or strategic thinking. Matching each aspiring warrior with the right training, skill-set, task, and leadership was essential to the army's success. But that matching would not come for several years for these elves. For now, they were tasked only with learning everything they could.

One of their instructors, Duilin, approached Legolas, "They are doing well, my lord."

"Aye," Legolas agreed, "Many here seem to have a talent for the craft."

"Perhaps a demonstration could inspire them further," Duilin suggested with a smile.

Legolas grinned back, though it did not reach his eyes. "Not today, I'm afraid," he carefully stretched his side and grimaced when the wound pulled, "I took an injury in the south, nothing serious, but if the healers didn't come after me for using a bow unnecessarily so soon after, Galathil would."

Duilin nodded and together they continued to watch the training session as the young elves fired off three more shots and instructors corrected technique. The class ended and a cease fire was called and the novices went to retrieve their arrows. One novice, a small, wiry, young elf, shuffled beyond his target. Pulling arrows from the mound of built to catch arrows that went astray with a dejected air; only a few of his arrows had struck the target.

Legolas continued to watch him as he made his way back to the other side of the field with his classmates to turn in their arrows. Duilin saw his gaze, "That is Naurdenal. He has a brilliant mind for strategy, but has struggled with several skill-based classes, archery included. Not for lack of trying though—he always applies himself fully."

Legolas had not seen him shoot, but did not like the cloud of disappointment that surrounded the young elf. Naurdenal lingered behind the class as another instructor spoke to him. Making a decision, he approached the novice, "Keep your arrows, Naurdenal. Come, and try again."

Naurdenal started at the sight of Legolas. Seeing the prince watching the class practice was one thing, being approached and addressed by name was another. "My lord," he sputtered quickly, moving to bow.

Legolas waved off the formality, "Come, choose a target and shoot at your own pace."

Legolas scrutinized his movements as he hastily drew an arrow, knocked it, and pulled back on the bow string, quickly letting it fly and missing wildly this time in his haste. The young elf was clearly frazzled by the presence of his prince.

Legolas smiled at the young elf, "Try again, slowly this time. Don't worry about the pace set by your instructors for now, just take your time."

Naurdenal repeated the process more slowly, giving Legolas more time to analyze his movements without having to sort out what errors were caused by haste and what errors were caused by lack of technique. An arrow was drawn and knocked before the young elf pulled back on the bow string, there was room for improvement in all of his movements, but nothing Legolas had seen yet would account for the consistent inaccuracy in his firing. He merely looked like a beginner.

Then Legolas saw it. In the instant before Naurdenal released his arrow, he gripped the bow tightly in his hand. That momentary tension as he released the arrow would result in inaccuracy in firing even if he was doing everything else proficiently. Legolas smiled, it would take practice, but this was not difficult to fix.

"Well done! Truly, it was," Legolas added at Naurdenal's skeptic look, "Your stance is good, you have the strength to draw the bow properly, and your knocking point is fine."

Naurdenal looked skeptical, his eyes drifting to the target that was bereft of arrows, "But—"

Legolas waived off his response, moving to stand next to him, "The moment before you fire, you grip your bow tightly. It may be caused by nerves about whether your arrow will fly true or you may feel like the tight grip will steady your aim, but it will just twist your bow slightly, causing your aim to be off. A grip like that will affect your shot differently every time, making it impossible to control," Legolas reached for Naurdenal's bow and demonstrated as he spoke, "Relax your grip, let it be firm, but not tense. Hold the bow gently as you knock, draw, aim, and release. Keep the pressure steady throughout the process. Even without a tight grip, your bow will still be anchored and held steady by your hand, you don't not need that much pressure."

Legolas handed the bow back, "Try it, without an arrow first. Draw, aim for the target, and release the string a few times. Concentrate on keeping your left hand relaxed."

Naurdenal tentatively raised the bow, he drew and released the string several times without an arrow and looked questioningly at Legolas.

"Better," Legolas nodded his approval, "Now try it with an arrow."

Naurdenal raised the bow again, drew an arrow, knocked it, pulled back on the string and aimed.

"Relax," Legolas reminded him softly.

Naurdenal consciously eased up on his grip, and fired the arrow. It struck the target in the bottom left quadrant. Naurdenal looked at Legolas uncertainly. "Again," Legolas said.

The young elf fired twice more, each time hitting the bottom left part of the target. Naurdenal tried to suppress a smile, he had hoped to hit the center, but was pleased to hit the target.

"Yes, much better," Legolas nodded his approval, "It's just fine that you aren't hitting the center right now, you're putting the arrows on the target and, even better, you're grouping them. It means you're consistent, and you can improve from here. You have a controlled shot when you keep that hand relaxed, it is impressive at this point in your training."

Naurdenal flushed and ducked his head, "Thank you, my lord."

Legolas smiled widely, "You're most welcome. Go join your classmates, as I recall the fun begins when the lesson ends."

Naurdenal grinned and nodded as he darted toward the training halls.

Duilin had been watching. He smiled at Legolas, "Your assistance is always welcome. It is with good reason that you are considered the finest archer in the Woodland Realm, if not all of Arda. I have been trying to help him for a while now with no success, it took you only a moment to see and correct the problem."

"That tension while firing is easy to miss. They know they are supposed to keep their hand relaxed, and so most only tense as they fire, you must be looking for that specific problem to see it. Even then, it lasts but a moment."

"You have my thanks, my prince. Naurdenal was growing frustrated. It was difficult to see a young one with such potential struggling."

Legolas thought back to when he had first started training with a bow. He had faced many challenges while learning the various skills necessary to be a warrior, but the bow had never been a struggle. He had been a natural, and he had loved the craft. The weapon had felt like a natural extension of his body from the first time he held one; everything about it made sense. The joy he took in it led him to practice almost obsessively. He had improved rapidly. It had been play when he first started. The realm had not been at war then and Legolas had wanted to learn. As the darkness grew, Legolas felt pressure from his father to become a better warrior as fast as he could. Then, practicing with his bow was a break. The archery range was a place where he could still be productive with his time, but forget about his personal troubles and those facing his people. There was only the bow, the arrow, and the target. Nothing else mattered. He still took the same joy in firing his bow, even if he didn't get to just practice for the sake of practicing as much as he used to.

Legolas made his way back to the palace. He would see his father and then go to bed—sleep would do him more good than anything else right now.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's creations, I just like to play in Middle Earth.

Summary: In the aftermath of a failed mission, Legolas returns to the stronghold and must carry on as a captain, a prince, and a son. A story about finding hope and faith in the face of despair.

Author's Note: Sorry for posting late, I'm still playing catchup after being out of town! Thanks to everyone who is still reading and especially to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review. I apologize for falling behind on personal responses, but know that I appreciate it!

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Chapter 4

Legolas knocked on the door to his father's study.

"Come in."

Legolas entered and saw his father bent over his parchment-strewn desk. Legolas was glad to find his father alone—he had no desire to maintain the decorum that the presence of one of the king's advisers would have demanded. Legolas poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on a small table to one side of the room and perched himself on the edge of the desk.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows at his son, "There is a chair, you know."

It was an old rebuke, and there was no heat behind it. "Several chairs, actually," Legolas responded.

"I've raised a heathen," Thranduil said, but he was smiling.

Legolas leaned over and looked at the papers his father was reviewing. "Trade agreements?" He inquired with a grimace.

"Yes, just because you find it dull and tedious does not mean it is not important."

"Do you need help?" Legolas asked as he yawned and rubbed his hands over his face.

"No, thank you. You don't care much for these even when you aren't half asleep."

Legolas shrugged, not unhappy with the answer, "Did anything come of the Council meeting?"

"We need to increase our numbers at the border. We need to find a way to ensure that if our enemy coordinates another attack of this nature, we can withstand it and maintain some measure of safety for the outlying villages."

Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, "I agree, but it will be difficult."

The king nodded, "It will, and our warriors will bear the bulk of that difficulty."

Legolas locked eyes with his father, "And their families."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Thranduil's face, "Yes, and their families."

"We will need to increase the duration and frequency of patrols. It is undesirable, but I think unavoidable at this point. I share Berethron's worries. We did not accomplish our objectives on this mission, but the orcs would have pushed north easily if we had not been there. We simply would not have had enough warriors to stop them on another day."

The king nodded thoughtfully, "The Council thought the same. We will make it work," he eyed his son shrewdly, "Have you seen the healers yet?"

"It is unnecessary, I am well," Legolas replied without hesitation.

"You haven't, then. I believe you have already been told that you should see the healers."

"Galathil told on me?" Legolas asked.

"He did indeed."

"Hmm… I'll need to have a talk with him about discretion."

"Just remember, _ion nin_, king outranks prince."

Legolas chuckled.

Thranduil looked at his son critically, "Legolas, you should see a healer. From what I have heard, you suffered a wound that should be cleaned under their care and my understanding is that the wound bled for a while after it was dealt." He did not mention that he had also heard that his son had passed out from pain, blood loss, or some combination of the two. He did not voice his fears about what could have happened to his son, unconscious, in the middle of a battle.

"_Adar_, I am exhausted, and a visit to the healers will take time. If I cannot clean it properly myself, I will seek help, I promise."

Thranduil looked unconvinced.

Legolas held up his hands in a placating manner, "I do not deny that the wound requires tending and that I need rest, but I wish to rest in my own room and in my own bed. And I will not be a burden on the healers. They are busy with others who truly need their help."

Thranduil sighed and put the papers he was reviewing into a neat stack and tucking them under his arm as he stood, "Alright."

"Really?" Legolas was surprised, usually his father was more stubborn, especially when it came to his health. He had been bracing himself for a much longer argument.

"Really," Thranduil replied, "But, I am going with you to your rooms and I will see to the wound myself. If, and only if, I am satisfied, you need not see the healers."

Legolas considered it for a moment. "Alright," he agreed.

Together, they left the king's study, Thranduil maintaining a steadying grip on his son's arm. They both knew it was unnecessary, Legolas had been on his feet all day without issue, but it was a comfort to both of them in which they rarely indulged.

"How are the assignments coming?" Thranduil asked.

"They still need to be reviewed, but we're close. I want to go over them with the other captains, but we should be able to get them to the Council tomorrow, hopefully in the early afternoon."

"That's fine."

"It may be...difficult to fill the patrols for a while and to increase our presence at the southern border. There are new novice classes that will be able to go on routine patrols near the stronghold and along the Elf Path soon, but with the most recent injuries, our numbers are a bit low."

"That is not unexpected. We will manage."

They fell into a comfortable silence until they reached their private quarters. Legolas sighed in relief when they reached his room, it had truly been a long day.

Thranduil set the trade agreements on a side table and moved to a cabinet in the corner that contained healing supplies. He hated that this was a necessity in his son's room, but Legolas was much more likely to rest if he was in his own room. Father and son had reached an unspoken agreement that relatively minor injuries could be tended to here without involving the healers.

Legolas undid the clasps of his tunic slowly and carefully removed the garment. He glanced down and saw the red starting to spot the bandage covering the wound. He frowned, he had not noticed it was bleeding again. Despite being careful, he must have torn some of the stitches.

Thranduil turned from where he gathering supplies and froze. His son's back was to him and although his eyes initially focused on the bandage, he found himself taken aback by the new marks that marred what he could see of his son's torso—it was a veritable map of the war on his son's skin. There were scars he did not recognize, bruises both fresh and fading, minor cuts and scratches. Thranduil said nothing, though, words would not take away his son's pain; words could not end this war. All he could do was treat the current wound and offer him some measure of relief.

Legolas had started to unravel the bandage, but his father stopped him. "Sit, Legolas," Thranduil's tone, while kind, left no room for argument, "Let me do this."

Legolas eased himself onto the edge of his bed and Thranduil pulled a chair up next to him. Carefully, Thranduil finished unwrapping the bandage. He paused at the sight of the wound. The cut was jagged and appeared painful. His son was lucky there had not been more force behind the blow or he would have had broken ribs. Galathil had assured the king that the wound was not overly dangerous, but he doubted his son could move without pain. Fresh blood oozed from the cut where three of the stitches had broken. His hand hovered a few inches above his son's skin—it could have been so much worse.

Legolas frowned, he could practically hear his father's thoughts, feel his worry, "I am alright, Adar."

"You are not in danger of dying, my son. That does not mean you are alright."

Legolas chuckled slightly. This was a fairly new dynamic in their relationship. When Legolas had first assumed the duties of a warrior, and then later a captain, his father could not joke about injuries, even minor ones.

The first time Legolas had been seriously wounded, Thranduil was beside himself. He was not allowed in the healing wards as the healers fought to save his son. To think that he, the king of this realm and the father of the warrior in question, could be expelled from the only place he had wanted to be at that moment had been outrageous to him at the time. With the benefit of time and hindsight, he understood why. A distraught king and father did no one any good. Legolas had been semi-conscious some of the time. Although he had been aware of very little of what was happening around him, he had heard and tried to respond to his father's desperate pleas. His attempts to move had only served to hinder the healers and cause him pain.

Thranduil had been unceremoniously evicted from the wards and was left to prowl the hallways. Unable to work, unable to think past the morbid thoughts that he may never speak to Legolas again, that he may lose his son.

But Legolas had survived, and recovered, and gone back to the fight. He had returned from many battles since then, relatively unharmed most of the time, injured other times. The first time the work of running the kingdom kept him from his injured son's bedside, he had barely been able to concentrate on the tasks at hand. It had been the truest test of his commitment to his duties as a king.

It had taken decades, but father and son had found a new normal. Thranduil had not approved when he first heard Legolas joke about an injury. Slowly, though, he came to accept his son's attitude. He recognized it for what it was, a coping mechanism, a way to find a moment of levity in a serious situation. Thranduil also saw the way his own worry caused Legolas strain, and he began to joke too,if only for his son's benefit. Never when the injury was serious. But sometimes, when the injury was minor, he found it within him and was frequently rewarded with a smile or a laugh from Legolas.

Thranduil frowned at the broken stitches as though personally affronted by them. He could see that Galathil was correct—the wound was not debilitating and it would not even keep Legolas from going on his next patrol, but it had not been tended to since it was first quickly stitched up in the forest; it would need to be cleaned and closed again, "Legolas, the healers should look at this. It needs to be cleaned and the stitches need to be redone. The healers have steadier hands than I do."

"I trust you, _Adar_." And he did. To Legolas, Thranduil was more than a king, commander, and father. He was a healer, a counselor, and a confidant.

"Then trust me when I say a healer should look at this."

Legolas bit his lip, "Please, _Adar_, I do not wish to be in the healing wings now. I just want to rest here. You won't hurt me."

Thranduil frowned, but acquiesced. He carefully pressed a clean cloth to the wound. Legolas tensed, but otherwise kept still. Thranduil was glad. He had tended to his son's injuries on far more occasions than he wished to count, and while he knew that sometimes pain was necessary for healing, he hated to be the cause of it. If Legolas could not keep still for this, they were going to the healers whether his son wanted to or not.

Legolas clenched his fists and closed his eyes. He forced himself to measure his breathing—breathe in for eight counts, hold it for eight counts, breathe out for eight counts. He did it again, and again, and again. He lost his rhythm when his father began to remove the broken stitches, but recovered quickly. Control over his breathing meant control over the pain.

While he worked, Thranduil spoke in hushed tones to Legolas. He avoided the more serious subjects facing their people, and instead dwelled on lighter topics. Saeros had gotten drunk at an official dinner while Legolas was away, the fields were coming along nicely and there were high expectations for a good harvest, Aegnor seemed quite smitten with a new apprentice in the healing wards, and so on.

Slowly, the tension left Legolas' body and he felt himself relax. His mind cleared of all but the soft voice of his father and the clean, fresh scent of healing herbs. His breathing was no longer rigid and forced, but deep and even. He found himself nodding off and abruptly jerked his head up, fighting to stay awake. His father gently clasped his shoulders and guided him down to his pillows.

"Rest, Legolas, do not fight this." There were so many battles that his son had no choice but to fight, this one was not necessary.

Legolas tensed again and held his breath for a moment when Thranduil began to stitch the wound, but refocused on his father's voice and relaxed again. His eyes slid shut, and he drifted off even before his father had finished.

Thranduil grabbed an ointment that would ease the ache of the bruises on Legolas' chest. He continued to speak softly as Legolas' eyes slid closed. Applying as little pressure as he could, he spread the ointment over the bruises. He could practically feel the tension leaving Legolas. As much as he did not like to see his son sleep with his eyes closed, he knew Legolas was exhausted. This rest was needed.

The only thing left to do was bandage the wound, but he did not want to wake Legolas to do that. Instead, the king settled into the chair. He would watch Legolas and ensure the wound was not disturbed. That way, it could be bandaged when he woke with no harm done. He retrieved the trade agreements and settled back into the chair at his son's bedside.

Legolas was more relaxed than Thranduil had seen him in months, and yet lines of pain and worry still adorned his face as he slept. Thranduil frowned. Their lives had not always been like this. He longed for the times of relative peace when Legolas trained with his bow for fun and not for war. This was not the world in which he wanted his son to grow up.

After his wife died, he distanced himself from everyone, his son included. At the time, he did not see this option as the easy way out. The easy way would have been to follow her to the Halls of Mandos or to set sail away from these shores to somewhere the pain could not follow. Her death cased him more pain than he had thought possible for anyone to bear. She was supposed to be safe; she was supposed to be with him always. And she had gone somewhere he could not follow without abandoning all of his responsibilities here—as a king and as a father—and he would not do that. But he did not know how to cope with that unyielding and unbearable pain, so much deeper and more intimate than the pain of wounds sustained in battle, so much worse even than the loss of his own parents so many years ago.

He loved her and protected her, and now she was gone and he would never be rid of the pain of that loss. He loved Legolas too, but he did not protect him. Instead, he sent him to the frontlines of this war in which they found themselves.

He too had known war in his youth, he never wanted this for his son. Now, darkness spread north into his lands from Dol Guldur. He could not be certain what evil resided there, but he knew it was bigger than spiders and orcs. Middle Earth was on the brink of…something. He knew not what, but he could feel the shifting of tides even without a ring of power in his kingdom.

In his own small part of Middle Earth, he tried to create a peaceful life for his people. First, with his wife at his side, and then with Legolas. And now he commanded his son into the most dangerous of situations. He did what he could to ensure his safety—he pushed Legolas to train constantly, to know battlefield strategy and lore, to be ever stronger and faster with every weapon. But this was no guarantee of safety, of course. Even relatively minor wounds such as this one served to remind him that immortality was no guarantee of forever.

Legolas shifted restlessly on the bed. His breaths coming in quick gasps. Thranduil waited, hoping his son would fall back into a deep, peaceful sleep, but, alas, it was not to be.

Legolas flinched, Thranduil was not certain if it was in response to real pain from his real wound, or imagined pain from whatever he was seeing in his dreams. Legolas muttered something that even Thranduil's sharp ears could not catch.

Thranduil sighed, putting aside the trade agreements again.

"Legolas," he said gently.

But Legolas did not wake immediately, he drew in a breath that sounded almost like a sob, and persisted in his unintelligible muttering, the words were too soft and indistinct for even elven ears to understand him. Then, Legolas murmured the names of some of those who had died. The abject pain and mourning in his tone caught Thranduil off guard.

Thranduil had frozen for a moment, but the sound of a choked off breath spurred him into action. He reached out and placed his hand on Legolas' shoulder, "_Ion nin_, wake up."

Legolas started, jerking awake. He reached reflexively for a weapon that was not there and moved as though he was about to strike out at anything near him. Thranduil grabbed his arms, steadying his son and halting his movements, afraid that the stitches would again be torn. He bit his lip at the flash of desperation that flashed in Legolas' eyes when he found his movements restrained.

"Legolas!" Thranduil said more forcefully. Legolas' eyes jerked to his father's and Thranduil saw the moment when Legolas threw off the nightmare and came back to himself and his surroundings, realizing he was safe.

"Forgive me," he said breathlessly as he quickly pulled his hands back down.

Thranduil brushed off his apology, eased his son back against the pillows, and turned to grab the bandages from before. He held them up, "Since you are awake, we might as well finish this."

Legolas nodded and sat up, he rested the arm on his injured side on his father's shoulder. Legolas sucked in a breath as Thranduil bound the wound tightly, and settled back onto the bed with a relieved sigh. He saw the now abandoned papers on his bedside table, "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"I am not," Thranduil paused and considered his son. It was rare for them to have much time alone, and rarer still for Legolas to be vulnerable in those stolen moments. In sleep, he could not hide what he carefully disguised while he was awake.

Thranduil too was not one to show his emotions. But today, the lists of the dead weighed heavily on him. It could have been Legolas. It so easily could have been his son's name on one of those lists. He could have been the one notified of the loss of a dear loved one. Those thoughts left him feeling raw, which loosened his tongue more than the even finest Dorwinion wine. "Legolas, I never wanted this life for you. I meant for you to be raised in a time of peace. You have a gentle soul, _ion nin_. I often wonder if you would have chosen the path of a warrior had need not demanded it."

"I have found success in this path."

"Yes, but have you found happiness? I would see you happy."

Legolas considered this, was he happy doing this? "I am happy when I train with my bow, archery has always brought me joy," his eyes shifted to where his great long bow hung on the wall, "The warriors at my side also bring me happiness. The war, the loss of life, and the spoiling of our forest brings me sorrow. But what I might be doing but for the war matters not, I would not be happy doing anything else now. I could not see our people ride into battle while I remained behind."

"And I cannot send others' children into battle without also being willing to send my own. But for all of your victories, and all of the times you have returned home hale and whole, and even all of the times you have returned injured and recovered, I still fear for you every time you ride away from me."

"I fear for those who ride with me. I fear for those who will not ride home, for the ones I cannot keep safe," Legolas admitted.

"Our warriors are safer for your presence. Our victories greater and losses are fewer because of you. Whatever path you may have chosen, you are without question our greatest warrior and a worthy captain."

Legolas shook his head in protest, and Thranduil spoke again, "Do not deny the truth, my son. Your humility is one of your strengths, but do not doubt yourself. Ever. I will command it of you if I must."

Legolas chuckled.

Thranduil carefully eased him back against the pillows again, "For now, though, I simply wish for you to rest. When will you ride out again?"

"Soon, within the week I expect. With the current injuries, it will be a busy few months."

Thranduil frowned, "And what of your injuries?"

"Ada, you can see for yourself, it will heal quickly. It will not hinder me long. A day or so and it will be closed enough that it won't tear open again even if I move normally."

"Rest then, and you do not need to attend council meetings tomorrow. I will send runners to ensure you receive any updates you need. See to your warriors and yourself."

Legolas yawned, "Thank you," he murmured as his eyes slipped closed.

Thranduil settled back into his chair, pulling his papers back into his lap, content where he was.

* * *

Just one chapter left to wrap things up. See you next week!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's creations, I just like to play in Middle Earth.

Summary: In the aftermath of a failed mission, Legolas returns to the stronghold and must carry on as a captain, a prince, and a son. A story about finding hope and faith in the face of despair.

Author's Note: Onto the final chapter! I'm going to work on review replies after I post this, but I wanted to thank everyone who has taken the time to review here, especially guests to whom I cannot personally reply.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Sunlight streamed through the windows when Legolas woke the next morning. He could hear the distant sounds of others at work and knew he had slept in late, far later than he had in a long time. His father was gone, the chair he had used last night back in its rightful place by the wall and any evidence of his nighttime vigil put away.

He stood and stretched, testing the limits of the wound in his side and was pleasantly surprised with the improvement in the range of motion he found. He would be ready to leave as soon as tomorrow, which was good, because it would likely prove necessary.

He dressed and braided his hair quickly before making his way back to the warrior's quarters to finish the assignments. Galathil was there waiting for him.

"Good morning," the other elf said brightly, "I don't know about you, but it has been months since I slept that well."

"Aye," Legolas responded, "Don't get used to it though, have you seen what we have coming up?"

"No," Galathil answer, "I arrived only a moment ago and have not yet started looking over what you finished last night."

Settling into chairs across from each other, Legolas picked up the partially finished assignments and started checking off names on the rosters. Well-rested and working together, they made relatively quick work the task, and were finished in only a few hours.

Legolas considered the last list in his hand before handing it to Galathil, who reviewed it quickly and nodded, "I think that covers everything."

"Without having to rush any of the novice classes," Legolas said with satisfaction, standing up and going to the door with the lists. He handed them to an attendant who was posted outside, "Take these to the King's Council right away, they are waiting for them."

Galathil watched his friend come back in and sit down at the table, "You don't have to go?"

"No, I am free for the day, my father excused me from attending the council meetings last night."

"Did he go with you to the healing wings?"

Legolas looked away, and did not answer.

"Legolas! You promised."

"I didn't," Legolas answered, "I never actually said I would go. It is fine, Galathil."

"You'll forgive me if I don't trust you on this particular issue."

"It was cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. My father helped me, you can ask him yourself."

Galathil snorted, "As close as I am to the king, I don't think I'll be having that particular conversation with him."

"It feels much better today, truly," Legolas replied seriously, "just a bit stiff. And sitting in this chair isn't helping. Today has been too idle for my taste, are you up for some sparring?"

"Always," Galathil answered readily.

"Don't take it easy on me," Legolas warned as they walked to the training fields, "The wound is fine and we both leave tomorrow. I doubt the orcs will hold back out of consideration for me."

Galathil grinned, "I had no intention of going easy on you. I am a well-trained warrior and I know how to press any advantage—I intend to win today. If for no other reason, than to prove you should have seen the healers."

They spent the next few hours training, the afternoon passing quickly. Despite Galathil's promises, he had taken it easy on Legolas, ensuring that the recovering elf did not have to overextend himself. By the afternoon's end, they were both breathing heavily and their matches were ending in ties. Both were tired, but content. Finally, they lowered their weapons for the last time.

Legolas turned his eyes skyward, tracking the sun's progress across the sky, "The council should have reviewed the assignments by now. I assume they were approved, but I still wish to go and check."

"I think it is safe to assume they won't want to redo it, and we need them starting tomorrow," Galathil noted.

"Yes, will you be ready to leave by then?"

"I am always ready, my lord, but I do wish to return home for the evening. One full night's sleep was wonderful, but I am quite excited at the prospect of two in a row," Galathil bowed once more before turning to leave. "See you in the morning, Legolas." He turned for home.

"Farewell!" Legolas called, turning and heading toward the palace. He moved through the halls swiftly, heading for his father's study. The attendant outside bowed to him before turning and announcing his presence to his father.

Legolas bowed his head as he entered, "Adar."

The king surveyed his son critically, "I heard you were sparring this afternoon, you look well."

"I am. I was a bit stiff this morning, but moving helped. Thank you for your assistance last night."

"You never need to thank me for that, Legolas, I am glad you are well." Thranduil stood and grabbed the rosters from a table to the side of his desk, he handed them to Legolas, "All approved. Your ingenuity showed—you were able to cover all of the patrols despite our current situation."

Legolas nodded, pleased, "I did not want to accelerate the training of the novices. That is a last resort."

"Clearly," his father answered, "Your warriors and you have a busy schedule coming up."

"It was the only way," Legolas replied.

Thranduil nodded his understanding, if not his approval, "There is nothing else pressing enough to require your attention this evening. Go and get what rest you can."

Legolas turned to leave, but hesitated, "Adar," he began cautiously, "Does all of this now seem normal to you?"

At his son's serious tone, Thanduil put his quill down to give Legolas his full attention, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Legolas paused to consider his words, "I have been thinking about what Galdor said yesterday."

Thranduil thought back to the meeting yesterday, and his advisor's thoughtless words, _it seems we are only capable of sacrifice and not victory_. "Legolas," Thranduil began, "Galdor often speaks without considering his words, you must not take them personally."

"I know, Ada, but…but what he said feels true. I do not know what more we can do, but lately our battles with the darkness have not gone well. I have no doubts in the abilities of our warriors, but where we have skill and fortitude, they have seemingly unending numbers. How many more immortal lives must be lost, must be sacrificed?"

"I do not know, my son," Thranduil replied softly, "And every loss weighs on me as well.

"How many must be lost?" Legolas asked emphatically, "How many must fall?"

"I have not the foresight to answer that. Legolas, if you need time, if you need a break, it has been years since you travelled to Imladris, no one would begrudge you—"

"No," Legolas said firmly, "I could find no rest even in that peaceful place if I knew I was needed here. I am well, truly, I just—I just sometimes wonder when this will all end, how it can all end when neither side will yield."

"Dark days such as these always feel unending to those who live in them. They will end, my son, I know not how or when, but they will."

Legolas nodded, "I ride out tomorrow."

"I know, I do not think I will be able to meet you before you go."

Legolas dismissed his father's worries, "The council meets early tomorrow, does it not? It is well, I would much rather face orcs and spiders then your councilors that early in the morning."

Thranduil laughed as he stood from his desk and approached his son, wrapping him in a firm embrace, "I do not say it often enough," he said, holding his son, "I am proud of you and I appreciate what you so selflessly do for our people. I could ask for no better son in times such as these, I would only ask for better times for you."

Legolas returned his father's grasp, "I am who I am because of you, Adar."

They separated, Thranduil returning to his desk and Legolas turning to leave.

Sitting down, Thranduil called out to his son, "Never forget that you are my hope, and you inspire our people to continue this fight even when they think as you are now. Be safe."

Legolas paused at the door, bowing slightly, "I will come back."

* * *

The next morning, Legolas studied the map in the Captain's Room of the Warrior's Quarters. It tracked the movements of both their own patrols and the enemy. He raised his hand to the map and traced his finger along the line that demarcated the edge of their control. His people had fought and died to protect this line, and try to shift it south, for nearly a year now. The orcs had entrenched themselves in this area. It shifted slightly south or slightly north as each side mounted offensive strikes, but neither side had been able to find way to maintain any ground gained.

Galathil approached him, "We are ready when you are."

Legolas nodded without turning. His pointed to a spot not far from where they had engaged the enemy before, "We'll make camp here this time. It should offer a slightly better vantage point."

Coming closer, Galathil also studied the map, "Does it ever seem to you that this war will never end? We have fought over this particular line for so long now, and while we keep them from pushing north, we cannot push south. Are we doomed to spend the coming centuries standing guard over this line?"

"I does feel unending," Legolas answered seriously, "We were still children when this forest last saw peace. I never would have guessed at how long the darkness would last nor how strong it would grow when it first appeared. When our training turned from play to preparation for a war that was happening. But we will win. Maybe not today, maybe not even this century, but we will not fail."

"Are you truly that confident?" Galathil asked.

"Yes," Legolas replied without hesitation, "We will win because we must, because there is no other alternative, because we will not suffer defeat. We will see our home restored, we will remember those we have lost, and we will live in freedom."

Galathil grinned at him, "You are certainly a prince."

Legolas chuckled, turning away from the map, "Let's go."

The moved into the courtyard. The other warriors were already mounted and ready, awaiting their captain. Legolas considered each of them carefully. Many of them looked tired, many of them were also only recently released from the healing wards. This kingdom asked so much of its people.

Legolas pulled himself on top of his horse, settling in for the ride. He did not need to ask if his warriors were ready; he already knew the answer. "Let's not keep our enemy waiting."

* * *

Closing note: And that's all! As I said, there wasn't much plot, but I hope you enjoyed it. My goal was to capture life in Mirkwood during a very trying time. I have another short story that I'm working on now. It may be a while before I post it because real life is going to be pretty hectic for the next couple of months, but we'll see! Please leave a review and let me know what you thought!

Best,

Cool Breeze


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